


Roasted chicken

by Halfling



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfling/pseuds/Halfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angel, a demon, an unfortunate pigeon, and a little adventure to destroy a dangerous artifact. What could go wrong? Slash if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roasted chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fun at my [tumblr](halfhalfling.tumblr.com), don't take anything seriously!

An angel and a demon stood staring at a dead pigeon. It was like the punchline to some obscure joke that no one could ever remember correctly. The pigeon in question was only recently dead, and were it still alive, it would have been entirely unsurprised at this latest development, at least in part because the sudden appearance of these two spectators was the primary cause of the poor bird’s demise. Its heart had simply never been good and when the two beings had suddenly materialized where before there had been nothing, save for an excellent bit of earth ripe with bread crumbs, it was all too much for it.

“Well that’s not something you see every day,” said Crowley.

“Oh, I told you we should have taken your car, just look at the poor thing!” said Aziraphale. Of the two of them, he was the only one upset by the fate of the unfortunate pigeon.

“And miss the chance to teleport? Not on your life!” Crowley smirked and flipped the artifact they’d used to do the teleporting into the air and caught it easily.

“Be careful!” Aziraphale urged, pulling the old thing, which vaguely resembled a smallish wooden crown of interconnected parts, from Crowley’s hand. “We still don’t know enough about it to go playing with it.”

“I thought we were here to destroy it.” Crowley said, doing his best to look cross at the flustered angel.

“Yes, but that’s no reason to take unnecessary risks, now is it?”

Crowley declined to come back with an explanation of why that was exactly the reason to take all the risks they wanted, and instead merely rolled his eyes and nodded indulgently. He was rewarded for this with a smile and a pat on the shoulder from Aziraphale.

“Now, where is that tree…” Aziraphale wandered around the small clearing where they had arrived, looking closely at the trees. Based on their intelligence, they should be in a grove of some of the oldest trees still in existence. Based on the park bench, sparse litter, and bread crumbs, they were actually in a public park of some kind, like the sort where old ladies went to feed pigeons and avoid thinking too deeply about their recently dead husbands and how they were secretly grateful he was no longer around, leaving the toilet seat up and complaining about the state of children these days.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Crowley asked.

“Oh yes, quite sure. The prophecy was quite clear on that bit: ‘The device shall leade thee to the playce of the origin.’ That means the tree that was used to make it.” Aziraphale was now sniffing the bark of each tree he passed. Crowley followed behind, looking around to make sure they were alone and not being observed.

“Okay, but how do we know which one that is?”

“I’m…not sure, actually. Do you have the prophecy on you?”

Crowley grinned and produced the scroll from the inside pocket of his jacket, holding it just out of reach. “I thought you had it memorized?”

“I just need to be sure, that’s all!” Aziraphale insisted. He made to grab the scroll, but Crowley pulled it away at the last second.

“What will you give me for it?” Crowley asked with a wicked smile.

Aziraphale pouted. “I don’t have anything to give you and you know it, Crowley. Please, if we don’t do the ritual with wood from the right tree then it won’t work and someone else could use this little relic to try and name themself ruler of Canada or something.”

“Would that really be such a bad thing? I mean, it’s just Canada,” Crowley teased.

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, just tell me what you want, already and have it over with.”

Crowley smirked with triumph. “Gimmie a kiss. Then I shall give you the scroll and we can finish this and be on our merry way home.”

“Oh honestly, you don’t have to play these little games of yours. If you want kisses you know I’m more than willing to supply them.”

“I know, but this is more fun!”

Aziraphale shook his head and laughed before pulling Crowley over by the collar of his shirt and pressing his lips happily against Crowley’s. He often pretended to be flustered with Crowley’s behavior but the truth was, he secretly enjoyed Crowley’s games more than he suspected even Crowley did.

Crowley handed over the scroll as promised, and after reading it through several more times Aziraphale could finally say with confidence that he knew exactly nothing about how to identify the proper tree.

“Well, there is an obvious solution, you know,” said Crowley.

“I don’t want to hear this, do I?” said Aziraphale.

“The ritual is just saying some old latin while burning wood of the original tree, yes?”

“Yes…,” said Aziraphale, dreading what he suspected was coming next.

“Well, it doesn’t say anything about the spell not working if we burn other wood beside the one we need.”

“You’re not actually suggesting…”

“Let’s start a forest fire!” Crowley said cheerfully.

“That’s dangerous, Crowley, and besides, these trees are hundreds of years old! Some of them thousands of years! We can’t just burn them to the ground!”

“We can put it out once the crown thingy loses it’s mojo, come on, please?” Crowley stuck his lower lip out in a way he knew would tug at the angel’s heartstrings.

“I suppose, since there really isn’t another option, perhaps just this once…”

It was all the permission Crowley needed. Before Aziraphale had even finished his thought, Crowley had half the forest ablaze around them. “We should probably hurry a bit, I think I might have heard shouts not too far off.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said in horror. Crowley only shrugged with feigned guilt. “Oh, fine.” He rattled off the spell in grammatically perfect Latin and when he finished the crown was burning happily where he’d placed it on the ground.

Crowley brushed his hands off, satisfied with a job well done. “So, are you hungry? I don’t know about you but I could go for some barbeque right about now.”

“What about the fire?” Aziraphale asked, not sounding nearly as concerned as he felt he should be.

“Oh, let’s leave it, can we? It’ll look good to my superiors and you can just tell your superiors that it was necessary to destroy whatever that thing was. Everybody wins!”

Aziraphale had to admit, it was a fair assessment. “Crowley, you are incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

“I do. Let’s go home.”

The angel and the demon walked arm in arm away from what would later become known as the worst forest fire to ever streak across Europe. This had absolutely no concern to the dead pigeon, as its feathers burned to a crisp and a smell not unlike roasted chicken filled the air.


End file.
